


No Sense of Decency

by mistyzeo



Series: Only Decent [1]
Category: Actor RPF, British Actor RPF, Sherlock (TV) RPF
Genre: Anal Play, Bathroom Sex, Blow Jobs, In Public, Multi, OT3, Teasing, Threesome, Threesome - F/M/M, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-09
Updated: 2013-08-09
Packaged: 2017-12-22 23:04:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/919063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mistyzeo/pseuds/mistyzeo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>"A negotiation, perfect," Martin agrees.</i>
  <br/>
  <i>"A negotiation for what?" Ben asks, walking straight into it.  He jumps as Martin's hand comes to rest on his other knee, and then they're both looking at him very intently.  They have almost identical smirks on their faces.</i>
  <br/>
  <i>Amanda says, "You."</i>
</p><p> </p><p>  <a href="http://www.allwatson.com/forum.php?mod=viewthread&tid=1306&extra=page%3D1">Chinese translation available here!</a></p>
            </blockquote>





	No Sense of Decency

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [No Sense of Decency 絕不正派](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1474045) by [221bfanfic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/221bfanfic/pseuds/221bfanfic)



> No excuses, just this:
> 
>   
>   
>    
>    
>    
> 

Benedict is a drink and a half into the party when Martin arrives, fashionably late as ever, with Amanda on his arm. They're both gorgeous— Martin in a navy suit and tie and Amanda in a coordinating dress with gold trim, how do they do it?— and Benedict waits with his heart in his mouth and his drink dampening his hand for them to spot him. Martin does so almost immediately, and gives him a wink across the room as he's accosted by Mark and Ian at the door. 

Ben manages to wave, which Amanda sees, and she leans in and whispers something in Martin's ear. His eyes cut to Benedict again as he talks, and his smile makes Ben's face flush.

Jesus, Ben thinks. He's the man's co-worker; he sees him every bloody day. They stare at one another for hours. No need to get riled up over a moment of eye-contact.

He's finished his drink by the time Martin and Amanda make it over to him. He's tucked himself away in a corner, near enough to the bar that he can have another drink brought with a wave of his hand, but away from most of the party. Benedict gets up to greet them, and Martin's hand slides in to rest on the middle of his back as Amanda kisses Ben's cheek.

"Took you long enough," Benedict says, sitting down again with them on either side.

"We had to have a row before we left," Martin says, glancing at Amanda and grinning, "and then we had to make up."

Amanda smirks. "I think Martin picks fights just to make up," she says, looking at her partner but confiding in Ben. Benedict nods.

"He does like to make things difficult," he agrees.

"Fuck you both sideways," Martin says pleasantly. "Who's bringing me a drink?"

They can't have the whole evening to themselves, whatever Benedict may want. He's tired of people coming up and congratulating them, telling him he's brilliant, thanking him for his hard work. Not that he doesn't enjoy those things normally, but _Sherlock_ is over until further notice, and he's going to have to shift gears in a big way. Sherlock Holmes is in his head, and he has to forget him, and forget John Watson, until some nebulous time in the future when they get to start again with Series Two. He's grieving, a little, and it's getting hard to keep that from showing.

He always does this. Holds on a little too tight. He just needs a few days to let it all go, and then he can start afresh with something else.

But tonight he has Martin on one side and Amanda on the other, and they are already keeping the party at bay for him. Martin fields congratulations from the crew and guests, and Amanda teases gently about his hair being his own color again.

A third drink becomes a fourth, and Martin and Amanda are doing their damnedest to catch up. It isn't until he's pushing the latest glass away from him, empty, that Ben notices the light pressure of Amanda's hand on his knee. He's in the middle of a story, one Martin was present for and is insisting that he reiterate, about a scene in which he couldn't for the life of him keep a straight face. Martin had caught on quick that he was having trouble and had started to make it worse, and they'd had to stop filming early for lunch because they'd gotten the giggles so badly.

He tries to shift away. Maybe it's a mistake. Or casual. Amanda and Martin are very physical people, though generally not in public. Benedict is pleased to be included. But as he moves he's trapped on the other side by Martin's knee, pinning his own to the seat. Amanda's hand stays right where it is, but when he looks at her she's looking at Martin, still laughing.

"D'you know," Martin says, sighing and sitting back in his seat, "it wasn't really a row."

"Sorry, what?" Ben's lost the conversation, distracted by the warmth of Amanda's palm.

"I said it wasn't a row. More like a discussion."

"A discussion is apt," Amanda says, smiling. Her eyes are bright with mirth, and some of her hair has escaped from her hairband. She pushes it behind her ear. "A negotiation."

"A negotiation, perfect," Martin agrees.

"A negotiation for what?" Ben asks, walking straight into it. He jumps as Martin's hand comes to rest on his other knee, and then they're both looking at him very intently. They have almost identical smirks on their faces.

Amanda says, "You."

The noise of the party is less back in this corner, but they're not anywhere near a private space. Benedict is suddenly very aware of how close the closest people are standing, as well as the thundering beat of his heart. He's almost worried someone will overhear that before they hear what Amanda is saying.

"What? Me?"

Amanda leans in, as if to tell him a secret, or to be heard over the music. "Martin's wanted you for ages," she says in his ear. "He can't stop thinking about you."

Martin is blushing, which is unusual, and which makes Ben pause before he laughs this off as some kind of mad prank. He's not getting duped again, like he was with the jelly molds or the ball bearings.

Amanda's hand inches up Benedict's thigh, slow enough that he could put a stop to this right now if he wanted to, but with enough purpose that he knows she's serious. Martin's stays where it is, just above his knee. Benedict lets his legs fall open all the same.

"Is that so?" he asks, looking curiously at Martin. At first Martin looks away, instead intent on the rim of his glass, but then he glances over and grins. The heat of it spikes in Ben's belly.

"Can you blame me?" Martin asks, voice low. "I mean, look at you."

Benedict wets his lips with a quick flick of his tongue, and watches Martin's eyes snap to the movement. He smiles, leaning back in the seat and easing his thighs apart even farther. Amanda takes the invitation for what it is, and her fingers find the leg of his pants underneath his trousers.

"Boxer briefs," she tells Martin. "You were right."

"Of course I was," Martin says. "This fucker doesn't have any sense of decency. Waltzing around in his pants all the bloody time."

"I never—" Benedict protests, but then Martin's hand on his other leg has shifted up to compare notes with Amanda's, and they can't have missed the way his cock is half-hard. He dresses right; another inch or two and Martin will have a handful of him. "Costuming said I wasn't to eat while I was dressed," he says weakly.

"Was that because Sherlock is a neat-freak, or because you're a fucking slob?" Martin asks. He's leaning closer now, his shoulder pressing into Ben's, his elbow against Ben's ribs. Ben swallows hard.

"Are you gonna kiss him," Amanda interrupts, "or do I have to do it for you?"

Martin's face goes red, and he says, "I'm gonna do it," like he's been caught out stalling. He tips his chin towards Benedict and says, "All right?"

Benedict says, "Yes," before he can really think about it, and before he can modulate his own voice, because the word comes out breathless and wanting. Martin's grin is infectious.

"She wants to watch us," Martin tells him. To Amanda, he says, "You're probably wet already, aren't you, thinking about it?"

"Jesus," Ben says, rocked with the hot pulse of lust that goes through him. His cock twitches, and Martin's pinkie brushes, almost accidentally, against the head. Through two layers of cloth, it's like a bolt of lightning.

Amanda only smiles and twirls her loose lock of hair around her finger. "Oh sure," she says. "But I bet he's a bloody awful kisser."

"I beg your pardon!"

"Come on, Ben," she says, leaning into him and tucking the blade of her hand right into the crease of his groin, her fingertips over his femoral pulse and the backs of her fingers against his prick. "We've all seen you kiss on camera. Acting is reacting, isn't that right, darling?"

"Mm," Martin agrees. The soft back-and-forth of his little finger is not so accidental now.

"Martin's excellent at it," Amanda purrs in Ben's ear. "I'd bet he could teach you a thing or two."

"Now, wait a minute," Benedict says, gathering the shreds of his dignity around him. "You both are talking like I'm a bloody virgin. It's frankly insulting."

"What," Martin says, "you've been seduced by two people at once before? Amanda, we haven't been quick enough!"

"Damn," she says, and they both lift their hands from his crotch, leaving him cold and bereft.

Benedict snatches Amanda's hand out of the air and puts it back where it wants it, at the juncture of his thighs. He knows he's blushing— _damn_ it— but he squares his jaw and says, "That's not what I meant and you know it."

There they are again, the matching smirks. "Well, prove it then," Amanda says, wriggling her fingers under the weight of his balls. His breath catches in his throat, and he turns to Martin. 

Martin's eyes are crinkled with delight, and he leans in decisively, parting his lips. He tips his head, slotting their mouths together, and eases Benedict's open with a few decisive licks. His mouth is warm and tastes like bourbon, and his tongue is like velvet against Benedict's. Benedict can't help the moan that escapes him as he succumbs to Martin's seduction. Martin is good at this. It's like being kissed by the ocean: he surges forwards and retreats, enticing Benedict out to meet him, and then flowing back in to claim what's being given. His right hand on the side of Benedict's neck controls the depth of the kiss, guiding Benedict by the pressure of Martin's thumb at the hinge of his jaw.

Benedict is panting by the time Martin pulls away, and Amanda is watching them with wide-eyed approval.

"Any good?" she asks Martin, staring at Benedict's mouth. Ben bites his lip self-consciously.

"Fucking brilliant," Martin breathes, leaning in for another one.

This time Benedict knows what to expect, and he begins to mimic Martin's movements, the flicker of his tongue, the gentle nibble to his bottom lip. This gets him a little noise of of Martin's throat, and then Martin is pressing him back into the booth, cupping his face with both hands and kissing him hungrily. The wet slide of their tongues is disrupted momentarily by a clash of teeth, but Benedict grounds himself by getting a grip on Martin's lapel and gives back as good as he gets.

A thought strikes him, and he shoves Martin away roughly. Martin looks taken aback, mouth half-open, lips shining red, his tie slightly off kilter.

"Someone," Benedict says, trying to calm the beating of his heart, "is going to see us."

There are PAs and camera operators and gaffers and set designers standing mere meters away, and Benedict and Martin are the opposite of inconspicuous. Even if the lights are low and Benedict has picked a clever half-concealed corner.

"Darling," Amanda says, "that's what tablecloths are for."

She takes his hand from where it was resting on the table, after having been torn so gracelessly from Martin's jacket, and puts it up her skirt. He manages not to jump too obviously. She guides his fingers up her thigh to the top of her stockings— Christ, he should have known— and beyond to the softness of her skin. Ben can feel the weight of Martin's gaze on him, on his hand, and he shivers. She spreads her legs, making room, and he comes up against the humid crotch of her knickers.

"How wet is she?" Martin asks in his ear, his arm snaking around Benedict's shoulders.

"Quite," Benedict manages, rubbing the knuckle of his first finger up and down. He can feel the texture of her hair under the cotton, the plumpness of her lips. His mouth is dry.

"Go on," Amanda says. She lets go of Benedict's thigh and leans back, spreading her arms along the back of the booth. Her left heel comes up to rest on the seat beside Martin's knee, and he reaches across to join Benedict's exploration. Benedict bites his lip and curls his fingers, finding the elastic of her pants and nudging it aside, just in time for Martin's fingers to take hold of it and pull.

Amanda is soaking, slick and hot, and she's grinning at them like she can't think of a better place to be. Martin guides Benedict with the heel of his hand, urging him on, and he slips two fingers between her outer lips. He strokes downwards, slowly and easily, pressing deeper as he goes until he's nearly inside her. Amanda lifts her right leg and folds it along Benedict's thigh so that her knee is against his hip and the toe of her shoe is bumping his knee. She shakes her shoes off, and they fall to the floor with twin thumps.

Someone is going to bloody see them, and they're going to be very curious indeed why Benedict has his hand up his mate's partner's skirt, and why his mate is murmuring encouragement to him in an undertone.

Which is exactly what Martin is doing. His voice is a low rumble, reaching the very center of Benedict's chest, as he says, "Ooh, yes, that's lovely; you do know how to use those long fingers, don't you? Delicacy of touch, eh, Benedict? She's very sensitive; be gentle. Perfect, that's perfect."

Benedict can smell her arousal, bittersweet and earthy, and now his mouth is watering. Would Amanda let him taste her? Would _Martin_? His prick flexes hard in his trousers at the thought: Martin whispering this same nonsense in his ear as he buries his face between her thighs.

Amanda is doing her best to keep a straight face, but Benedict is not the virgin they suppose him to be, and he rubs her slowly and carefully, watching her reactions. Martin is working with him, holding her pants aside, nudging him in one way or another, rubbing Amanda's clit with his thumb as Benedict eases his fingers deeper into her. She purses her lips, bites them, arches her back, and Benedict's hand is shaking with how bad he wants this and how terrified he is someone is going to spot them.

Amanda closes her eyes, and Martin lets out a breath, nudging closer to Benedict until he's practically in his lap. "You're going to make her come, Ben," he murmurs, and Amanda's fingers clench on nothing. She rolls her shoulders forwards, dropping her head, and then her abdomen flexes once as she orgasms, noiseless, her whole body tense as a bowstring. Benedict pushes his fingers deeper, her cunt squeezing down on him, and Amanda breathes out and in, sharply. Martin makes a low noise in admiration, and when Amanda relaxes Benedict follows his lead and eases his hand away.

Martin takes that hand in his and puts Benedict's fingers straight into his mouth.

"Jesus," Benedict says, " _Martin_ ," as Martin sucks hard, the arch of his teeth digging into the sides of Benedict's fingers. Martin's own fingers are still slick with Amanda's juices, rubbing off on the back of Ben's hand. Benedict's head is swimming; he can't think straight, and he's not even the one who just got off in public. His cock is iron-hard in his trousers. He tears his eyes away from Martin's lips wrapped around his two fingers, and looks to Amanda.

She's still breathing hard, and she smiles at him almost lazily, her eyes half-lidded. She brings her arms down from the back of the bench seat and reaches over to curl her fingers in his hair at the nape of his neck. A shudder runs through him. She can't know how sensitive he is there, but she certainly seems to. Her thumb finds his impossible pulse and strokes it, watching his reactions.

"All right, Martin," she says, giving Martin a nudge with her toe against his knee. "You've made your point: you want to suck his cock. Jesus, you're a slut."

Martin moans and lets Benedict's fingers slip from his mouth. "Fuck off, Amanda," he says, "it's not my fault you haven't got a cock I can suck."

She smirks. "Oh, right, and it's a damn shame I've never fucked you in the arse, either."

He goes red at that. He's sweating lightly: his sideburns are damp. Benedict's missed something. He glances between them.

Amanda moves her foot from the outside of Martin's knee to the inside, pressing her stockinged toes against the obvious bulge of his prick. "'Ooh,'" she teases in falsetto, "'fuck, harder, Amanda, give it to me harder!'"

"Where's the loo?" Martin interrupts, still blushing so hard Benedict's concerned he hasn't got enough blood in his body to keep him alive, what with his erection as well.

"There," Benedict says, pointing. His fingers are cold, Martin's spit evaporating from them in the air conditioning.

"Let's go." Martin's up from the table in a second, grabbing ahold of Ben's outstretched hand, and yanking him away. Amanda takes a moment to slip her shoes back on and then follows.

The ladies' room at the bar is two sinks and two stalls. Martin doesn't even pause, just pulls Benedict to the larger one at the back. Benedict spares a moment to feeling guilty, but then Amanda is locking the door behind them and Martin is pushing him back against the wall. There is a metal handrail at hip height, and Benedict finds reassurance in its stability as Martin sinks to his knees.

Amanda steps up behind Martin, almost straddling his's shoulders, and she draws Benedict into a kiss. Her kiss is different from Martin's, although he can taste the similarities. She's more aggressive, plunging in and taking what she wants from him, and he lets himself be taken.

Martin is fumbling at his belt, winching it tight to open it, and then yanking Benedict's trousers down around his hips. Ben gets a hand on the back of his head, fingers sliding in Martin's short, soft hair. His cock is stiff in his shorts, distorting the soft fabric. His stomach clenches with how hard he is. Martin mutters, "Ah, fuck," and presses his whole face into the bulge of Benedict's groin.

Benedict breaks the kiss at that, gasping, and Amanda laughs against his mouth. She curls her fingers in his hair and pulls gently, sending a bolt of pleasure-pain down Ben's spine. His prick jerks against Martin's face, and Martin's groan is muffled.

"Stop wasting time, Martin," Amanda says, pressing her hips forwards. This pushes Martin's face even harder against Benedict's crotch, and Martin's hands go tight on Benedict's thighs.

Benedict hears himself say, "Fuck." Amanda laughs. She gives his hair another tug and then slides her hands down his neck, shoulders, and chest, to push open his blazer and ruck up his shirt around his ribs. Between his legs, Martin eases the elastic of his briefs down, letting his cock spring out.

"Fuck me," Martin murmurs, "that's gorgeous."

Benedict can feel the blush all the way down his chest. His prick twitches. He and Amanda both look down between them to watch Martin circle his fingers around the base and give it a slow tug. He's so hard he thinks he might faint. His foreskin swallows up his sensitive glans as Martin strokes up, and then Martin rolls it all the way down and follows his fingers with his open mouth.

Martin's mouth is wet and warm and gentle, and Benedict tips his head back against the toilet wall and moans. God, it's been a long time since anyone's done this to him. He's trembling, the smell of his own arousal making him dizzy, and the pleasure of Martin's head between his thighs setting him off balance. Martin sucks him deep, lips sliding wetly down the length of his shaft, until the head of his prick touches the pit of Martin's throat. Then Martin pulls back and works his tongue in slow circles around the glans. He's got his eyes closed, his forehead furrowed, and his other hand is braced on Ben's hip.

Ben should know how to ask for what he wants, but he's not sure he can form words right now. Amanda is kissing his neck, digging her teeth in over his pulse, and he can barely process all the sensations at once. But his hands know, and they find Martin's. Ben shifts the hand on his hip to between his legs, against his balls, and Martin groans again in approval. Martin's hands are small— Benedict hasn't compared them to Amanda's yet, not scientifically— and he can't help imagining Martin's fingers inside him. God, they'd be perfect. 

Martin squeezes and rolls his balls gently between his fingers and his palm, and jerks Benedict off into the heat of his mouth. The side of his hand keeps touching the wet ring of his lips, smearing spit along the shaft of Benedict's cock.

"Grab his hair," Amanda says in Ben's ear, doing it for him. His fingers curl in Martin's short hair again and Martin moans at the gentle tug. "Fuck his mouth."

Benedict can't. He can't. His blood is surging, beating hard in his throat and between his legs, and he just can't do that to Martin, no matter how ridiculous this is. He wants to— Jesus Christ he wants to— but he's not like that. His moan of frustration makes Amanda lift her head.

"No?" she asks, and smiles. "Martin," she says, looking into Ben's eyes and reading whatever she can read there, "brace yourself, darling."

Martin says, "Mm," in agreement, slurping wetly and swallowing. Benedict's breath stutters out of him, and then Martin's got both hands on his hips again. He looks down to find Amanda nudged up against the back of Martin's head, and she begins to rock her hips, pushing him forwards. Benedict's prick plunges to the back of Martin's throat. When Amanda's hips pull back, she puts her hand on Martin's forehead and drags him with her, the slide of his lips along Ben's cock slick enough to weaken his knees.

Martin's gone almost totally limp. He's holding himself up, but his face and shoulders are relaxed and his eyes are closed as Ben's cock fucks in and out of his mouth. Ben tears his gaze up to Amanda's and finds her grinning at him.

She kisses him again, tracing her tongue along his bottom lip before sliding it into his mouth. The rhythm of her kiss matches the beat of her hips, and Benedict's heart races to catch up. He's trembling, hips straining to stay still, the muscles in his pelvis tightening. Martin's hand leaves his hip and slips between his legs, behind his balls, dipping into the sweaty crease of his arse. His hole clenches in anticipation, and when the pad of Martin's fingers rubs across the furled muscle he nearly chokes. Martin doesn't press inside, just works his fingers around and around, pressing against the root of his cock, teasing his arsehole.

Benedict is close, shockingly close, his thighs tensing and his cock swelling. He moans a warning into Amanda's mouth and squeezes the grip he has on Martin's hair, the hot, urgent pressure of his orgasm coalescing. His body jerks as he comes, and Martin's finger breaches him, tugging on the rim of his hole. It sends another pulse of pleasure through him and another spurt of come down Martin's throat.

Martin groans and pulls off slowly, sucking the last sluggish pulse of semen out of him. Ben is shaking so hard he almost can't stand up, but for the handrail at his side and Amanda's hands on his ribs. He slumps against the wall, trying to catch his breath.

"Jesus," he whispers.

Amanda laughs and kisses his slack mouth, and then she reaches down and hauls Martin to his feet. "Give us a hand?" she says to Benedict. "When you're ready."

Martin leans back against her as she opens his trousers and pulls his prick out. It's thick and ruddy, the blunt tip exposed and shiny with pre-come. Benedict is reaching for it before he can think about how he must be mad for wanting this.

"Fuck," Martin says, pushing his prick into Benedict's hesitant grip. "You taste fucking amazing," he goes on, "I nearly came myself just now."

"Ngh," Benedict manages. Amanda's hand joins his on Martin's cock, rolling a condom on. Benedict pulls back, surprised.

Amanda winks at him, shimmying her dress up her hips, and Martin turns suddenly and lifts her off her feet. She wraps both legs around his waist and they fumble together between her thighs. Then Martin deposits her in Benedict's arms, her knees pressed to her chest. Martin pushes inside her with a grunt, and she throws her head back against Benedict's shoulder.

"Jesus fucking Christ, that's perfect," Martin says, bowing his head. Benedict can feel the shove of Martin's hips against his pelvis. He pulls Amanda's legs farther apart, making her moan. She has a hand between them, rubbing her clit vigorously, matching the speed of Martin's thrusts.

Martin's face is creased with concentration, his eyes squeezed shut, sweat running down his jaw and neck. Benedict watches the flickering expressions of pleasure and effort that plays across his features, the way he grits his teeth and turns his head, the crinkle of his nose. Amanda's hair tickles Ben's neck. He fights the urge to press a kiss to her temple. Is it allowed? He isn't sure. He doesn't know what the fuck he's doing here. Jesus, this is messed up. Normal couples do not do this with their single friends.

Martin opens his eyes suddenly, looking up into Benedict's face, and he flashes Ben a breathless grin. Then his whole face changes, his hips stuttering, and his mouth falling open, and Benedict watches him as he comes. Amanda stiffens between them, gasping, and Benedict feels her shudder through her second orgasm.

She is heavy, suddenly, in a way that she wasn't before, and she senses his grip start to slip. Martin pulls away and Benedict lets her down as gently as he can, setting her on her feet. She rearranges her pants and pulls her dress back down, and Martin works the condom off and drops it in the toilet. He flushes.

Benedict is left standing with his trousers still down and the sweat cooling on his body. He tucks himself away, embarrassed, and tries in vain to smooth down the front of his shirt. His hands shake as he does up his belt again. He can't look at them. He might not be able to look at Martin _ever again_ , not without picturing what he looks like during sex.

Amanda takes the belt buckle from him when his third attempt to get it into the hole fails. She fastens it and pats him gently on the belly. He fixes his tie, still looking anywhere but into her face.

"That was, er," he says, "very enlightening. Entertaining. I meant entertaining."

"Oi," Martin says, close and low, his hand following Benedict's down the length of his tie. The warmth of his palm bleeds through Benedict's shirt and vest, "we're not done with you yet."

Surprise forces Benedict's chin up.

Martin smiles. Amanda presses close against his chest and presses a kiss to his sweat-damp cheek. "We're taking you home, gorgeous," she says. "If you want us to. No pressure."

"No pressure?" Benedict asks. "Jesus, that was the best sex I've had in months."

Amanda goes up on her toes to murmur in his ear. "Martin wants you to fuck him while he fucks me," she says. "Are you up for it?"

Benedict glances at Martin, who is wearing that shit-eating expression that means he isn't sorry for a damn thing. 

Martin shrugs, as if it's nothing. "Are you?" he asks.

Letting out a slow breath, Benedict nods. "I think so," he says, losing control of his 's'. Shit.

"Good." Martin leans in to kiss him, slow and sweet, the stubble on his chin rasping against Benedict's. Then he turns and plants one on Amanda, and she cups his face.

"In a bit," she says finally, as they part. "We've got the babysitter for another hour or two, and I'm not bloody wasting her." She unlocks the loo stall and they go out. Benedict follows, his legs unsteady, and takes a moment to wash his hands. Amanda glances at him over his shoulder.

"I'll be right there," he says, and he means it. He looks at himself in the mirror. He's sweaty, and a little disheveled, and he's in the ladies' room, but other than that he can't detect anything amiss. He smiles at himself. Amanda and Martin aren't a normal couple; they never have been. He knows that. He's more comfortable with that than he thought he was, apparently. 

He can stand to get through the rest of the party, if more of _that_ is waiting for him on the other side.


End file.
